


Family of Choice and Chance

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: How Not to Win the Hunger Games [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, NCIS
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hunger Games Fusion, Hurt/Comfort, Only the fluff part is a work in progress, The fluff I promised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Gibbs has already lost one family. He can't afford another.He gets one anyway.





	1. Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own either of these franchises.

It was the second anniversary of his mother's death, and there were no funerals scheduled for today. Either of those facts alone was dangerous. Together, they were enough to drive Tony from the relative warmth of the apartment attached to the funeral parlor and into the first hard snow of the winter.

If his father had been in a good mood, he might have been safe. If his father had been busy, he might have been safe.

Since neither of those things were true, Anthony DiNozzo Sr was already reaching for the whiskey bottle. Tony's thin coat might protect him from the biting wind. He knew from experience it wouldn't protect him from a drunk Senior.

He rubbed at his bruised arm gingerly as he huffed his way up the hill to his mother's grave. Someone ought to visit her today, and since his father wasn't going to make the effort, he'd just have to go and keep her company.

Besides. The grave wasn't visible from the apartment. His father had made sure of that. If Senior stopped to wonder about where his son was, it might take him a while to find Tony if he was up at the grave.

He stopped at a small stone isolated from the others. Normally he would sit beside it, but if he let the snow soak into his pants, the cold would drive him in far before it was safe. Better to stand, even if the bitter wind still left him shivering.

"They played your favorite movie last night," he told her. Senior had never had much time for the Capital approved entertainment on the television, but Elizabeth DiNozzo had loved the glamor of the costumes and the sweeping Capital romances. This one had been her favorite for the hints of politics and intrigue that had shone through. "They've edited it again. You know that minor politician that played himself? They cut all his parts out."

That had been a game between them, once. Figuring out what messages got pulled, what actors went too far and got erased, what was changed between one edition and the next.

Having seen his father cut the memory of his mother out of their lives bit by bit, except for days like this one, Tony wasn't quite so fond of the game any more, but he kept it up for his mother's sake.

He chattered on about movies and the long awaited finale to one of her favored shows. He kept away from any talk about his life. If his mother didn't already know, Tony wasn't going to disturb her rest by telling.

When he had to start rubbing his fingers together to keep them from going numb, he reluctantly conceded that it was time to go in. Maybe he could hide in the funeral parlor and avoid his father for a few more hours. If he could just make it until Senior passed out . . . 

When he turned to go, though, he noticed another figure standing at a large tombstone at the bottom of the hill.

It was Tuesday. With the school temporarily closed for repairs, he had forgotten.

Tony hesitated. Tuesday was the day Gibbs always came to visit his family's graves. Tony's father had drilled into his head that he was to leave the victor alone. Tony had never disobeyed the instruction.

But he had broken that rule last week. It had bothered him that, like him, Gibbs always came to the graves alone.

In hindsight, he probably should have made a little more noise as he was walking up to the man. Sneaking up on a victor was never a good idea.

On the plus side, Gibbs had only gone for his knife, he hadn't actually drawn it. Tony was pretty sure that Gibbs was sorry for the incident too. District rumor was that he had a soft spot for kids.

So he was at least slightly less likely to hurt him than his father was. And Tony really, really didn't want to head inside just yet.

Mind made up, Tony curved towards Gibbs as he headed down the hill.

The snow crunching beneath his feet was probably enough noise, but he made sure to really stomp in it just in case. Gibbs was already looking up by the time Tony was a few yards away. Tony grinned and waved. "Hey, Gibbs!"

Gibbs' mouth twitched in what might, concievably, almost be called a smile. Tony's grin broadened. Success!

"Didn't think I'd see you again after last time," Gibbs' voice was hoarse, like he didn't use it much.

Tony shrugged. "If your admittedly lethal glare didn't kill me the first time, I figure repeated exposure couldn't hurt. Besides, you looked lonely."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Tony backpedaled quickly.

"Not, of course, that you couldn't find someone to talk to on your own if you were, in fact, lonely. Which you aren't. Obviously."

The eyebrow was still up, but Gibbs' mouth was doing that twitching thing again. "I appreciate the thought." He looked up the hill and his voice softened. "Your mom?"

Tony's shrug was a lot tighter this time. "Someone needed to go see her today."

"I'm sure she'd be glad it was you. You're a good kid, Tony."

Tony felt a flush creep up the back of his neck even as the soft praise settled in nice and warm in his chest. He tried to laugh it off. "My teachers would disagree with you." And so would his father.

A deep, uncontrolled shudder in Tony's shoulders cut off whatever else Gibbs might have said. "Let's get you inside."

Tony took a half step backward. "I'm good. Really. I think I'll just - "

Gibbs reached out and grabbed his elbow. Tony flinched automatically, but despite the strength the victor undoubtedly still had, the grip wasn't crushing like he expected. It just circled around, surprisingly gentle, as Gibbs steered him towards the false promise of the cheery windows.

"What's your mom say if she knew you were staying out for hours in a coat this thin?" Gibbs demanded.

"It hasn't been hours," Tony muttered rebelliously. At least, he didn't think it had been. He needed that little bit of rebellion though, because he was trotting behind Gibbs, not fighting to get away like he should have been.

Gibbs didn't respond to that.

Tony at least managed to convince Gibbs to go around to the business entrance. "Dad needs some space. I don't want to disturb him."

He wasn't sure quite what the look in Gibbs' eyes was, but it made him feel uncomfortably like Gibbs was seeing right through him.

Gibbs didn't say anything though, just dug in his pocket until he pulled out a small bag of something that looked like it came from the baker's.

Tony dragged his mind from the rare treats his mother would sometimes scrape up the money to afford at Christmastime and looked curiously up at Gibbs. "What's that?"

Gibbs pressed it into his startled hands. "For last time." Then he turned and headed down the frozen street.

Tony stared after him for a long moment before opening the package and peering inside. The smell of cooling chocolate pastries wafted up at him.

Presumably, this was as close to a, "Sorry I pulled a knife on you when you weren't trying to kill me," as Gibbs could get.

Personally, Tony thought this was good enough to be getting on with.

He slipped in the door and found a hiding spot behind the coffin on display. He didn't quite dare to climb into it.

His father found him eventually, but by that time Tony had already finished all the pastries and hidden the evidence. He still had a few bruises to show for it, but talking to Gibbs had given him enough time for his father to be too drunk to do much. 

All things considered, the day had gone better than he'd dared to hope, he decided when he snuck to bed after his father had finally passed out. And Gibbs was definitely forgiven for the knife incident.

He should go talk to him again next week.


	2. Choice of Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of kids get sick and die in the winters. 
> 
> Gibbs is determined that Tony won't be one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is late. Very, very late.
> 
> Why, you ask? Well, because I have a new job. A very, very exhausting job. Hopefully, I'll adjust and start writing more, but if I don't, I'm afraid updates will be on a somewhat weekly basis. Sorry about that.

Gibbs knew that it said something about him that his most consistent forms of social interaction were Ducky's weekly visit to throw away his alcohol stash and Tony meeting him at the graveyard.

It kept him sober two days out of the week. Facing Duck drunk was a bad idea, and he wasn't so far gone that he'd subject a kid to that. 

Not that the kid looked like he'd notice today. Gibbs frowned as he crossed the cemetery. Tony normally joined him a few minutes after he got there, and he always stood, looking half ready to run. Today he was already there, and he'd given up and sat hunched over on the frozen ground. The small shivers that always plagued him were practically convulsions, helped along by wet, hacking coughs.

For once, Gibbs completely ignored the gravestone. He crouched beside Tony. "You alright, kid?"

"F-Fine." The end of the word was interrupted by more coughs. Miserable tears clung to his lashes.

Gibbs' frown deepened. "Your dad let you out like this?"

"He's not - not - " More coughs cut him off. Whatever Tony's dad wasn't - and Gibbs had some definite questions about that - Tony needed to be inside. Gibbs picked him up and started walking towards the building. He expected Tony to protest, but the kid just nestled deeper into Gibbs' thick coat.

The business entrance was unlocked, but the lights were off. So, Gibbs realized quickly, was the heat. Gibbs headed over to the wooden door that led into the apartment. It too was unlocked, probably left so by Tony.

The apartment was just two tiny rooms shoved together with a few areas marked off by curtains. All areas were lacking three things: light, heat, and Anthony DiNozzo Sr.

All also had a scent Gibbs was far too familiar with. It filled both his and Franks' houses, no matter how many bottles Ducky threw out.

He couldn't just leave the kid alone here. Not as sick as he was.

He pushed curtains aside until he found one concealing a rickety bed. He started to lay Tony down on the bed, but the kid's fingers tightened around his coat as another coughing fit wracked him.

"Easy," he murmured. "I'm coming right back." The blanket on the bed looked about as thin as Tony's coat, so Gibbs shrugged off his own and wrapped it around him. It was a good one, imported from the Capital from in the days Sharon had been there to worry about his health.

He almost didn't want to bother with this next part, but conscience won out. He grabbed the first scrap of paper he saw and scribbled down a note.

_Tony sick. At doctor's._

The elder DiNozzo might be out for the doctor himself. He might be bargaining for some means to heat the place.

Gibbs doubted it, but he might.

By the time Gibbs got back to the makeshift bedroom, Tony was asleep. It was a restless sleep, but it was better than nothing. Gibbs remember that from caring for Kelly.

He picked him up carefully so that he wouldn't wake him. He kept both the jacket and the blanket around him.

It was a long walk to Ducky's. He'd keep Tony warm if he could.

 

Ducky's room, at least, was relatively warm. Tony had gotten some of his color back, but the coughs had woken him again. He'd burrowed under the blankets Ducky had provided and peered out from under them with reddened, worried eyes.

"Duck?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Ducky looked tired. Stoop shouldered weary, like the hopeless task he'd set himself was one step closer to breaking him. "It's the same thing I deal with every winter, Jethro. Not enough food, not enough heat. In this case, fluid in the lungs. If the boy's father didn't spend so much time buried in that bar drinking their money away, maybe I could do something. As it is . . . "

Gibbs' jaw tightened. "And if someone else took an interest?"

Ducky's eyebrows rose. "If 'someone else' had a well-heated house, well stocked with food and someone sober to watch him, then there might be quite a bit more I could do. Is that the case?"

Gibbs nodded curtly. "If his father resurfaces while he's still sick - "

"I'll take care of that," Ducky promised, his old lower class accent breaking through his usual merchant mask. A dangerous gleam had entered his eyes.

Gibbs thought, not for the first time, that Ducky might have done well in the Games.

 

Tony wasn't sure what had happened. He remember his dad leaving for the black market bar. He remembered shivering alone in the house and stretching out what little money he had for food.

Gibbs always brought food with him when he came to the grave, or he had for the last month at least. He had gone out to wait for him.

And then . . .

There was a pile of pillows propping his head up. A thick blanket, ridiculously soft, was tucked in around him. He had dim memories of soup, which had been delicious, and something so awful it could only have been medicine. There had been voices too, but they hadn't made sense, so he'd mostly ignored them.

He took a deep breath. A couple of coughs rasped out, but the fit ended quickly. Better, he decided. Much better.

With that problem at least mostly solved, he forced his eyes open.

And blinked.

He had no idea where he was.

The room was as big as the main room of the apartment. There was an air vent blowing in hot air instead of an empty stove sitting uselessly in the corner.

And Gibbs was sitting in a chair beside the bed, head bowed from where he'd nodded off as he'd watched over Tony.

Which meant that this . . . This must be Gibbs' house in Victor's Village.

Oh, Tony's dad was going to be _furious_. DiNozzo men didn't get help from outside the family. They didn't even need help from _inside_ the family.

_"I don't care who you are, my son belongs at home!"_

_"And he'll be there, the instant going home won't be a death sentence!"_

Suddenly, those voices made a lot more sense.

He wasn't quite better yet, though. He could stay here for a bit longer, kept warm by the blankets and safe by Gibbs' vigil. He could put off his father's wrath. He might could even talk Gibbs into letting him help with the boat the other man had mentioned, although Tony had no idea what Gibbs intended to do with one. There wasn't exactly a place he could take it out on the water.

But it would be nice to work with Gibbs, if the other man didn't mind.

There was a lot that was nice about the moment. So Tony sank deeper into the covers and wrapped the memory up so that he could keep it when reality moved on.

 _Gibbs must have been a good dad,_ he thought as he drifted back to sleep.

Despite what people thought, he did have a brain to mouth filter. Even as he drifted off, he knew that was one thought that it would safer to keep to himself.


	3. Chance to Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has wondered for a while how Gibbs will react if he finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after the oneshot "Five Short Backstories." If you haven't read that yet, go do it. This won't make sense without it.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the delay. This chapter really isn't long enough to warrant it, but for some reason, I had something of a block on this one. Hopefully the next chapter will go better.

Tony had wondered sometimes what would happen if Gibbs found out. He'd played the scenarios out from the improbably nightmarish to the impossibly fantastic.

In the end, all of the scenarios had run up against the immovable object that was Gibbs and ground to a halt. Gibbs would do _something_ , Tony was sure. He just wasn't sure what, and until he figured that out, it was best to stay quiet.

Gibbs had strong views on showing weakness. Tony didn't want to make that mistake.

He swung his legs nervously from his perch on the workbench. It was good to be back in the basement now that his lungs had mostly recovered and could handle the sawdust, but it didn't feel right to be down here without Gibbs.

A creak at the top of the stairs solved that problem. Gibbs headed down the stairs, two mugs in his hands.

Tony accepted his gratefully when Gibbs got to the bottom. He'd never had hot chocolate before he'd started coming over to Gibbs' house, but now he couldn't get enough of the stuff. There was something comforting about the warm feeling it left in his chest.

Tony tried not to notice the bruises on Gibbs' knuckles. He didn't want to think about what they might mean.

"Talked to a few people," Gibbs said as he sipped on his own drink. Coffee, from the smell of it. The whole district knew that Gibbs drank, but he never seemed to do it while Tony was around. "Thought you might could stay with me for a while."

Tony brightened. The idea warmed him even more than the hot drink. Reality crashed in a moment later. "My dad agreed to that?"

"Yep," Gibbs said calmly. "Ducky told him it would be good for your recovery."

Tony's eyes darted to Gibbs' knuckles again. He didn't ask.

Gibbs was watching him carefully. "That a problem, kid?"

Tony wasn't sure quite how he felt about his dad's side of things. Either his dad had been willing to give him up, which hurt more than he wanted to admit, or his dad hadn't, which meant that he might still be coming after him.

But Gibbs wasn't the problem. Sticking with Gibbs was never a problem.

"Nope," he said with cheerfulness that was only partially forced. He trusted Gibbs a lot more than he trusted his dad, and if worse came to worst and Gibbs got too out of it while he was drinking, well - There were a lot more places to hide here. And at least Gibbs seemed to care about him when he was sober.

"I asked Ducky to clear the house," Gibbs said abruptly.

"Sir?" Clear the house of what?

"Don't call me sir," Gibbs said mildly. "And Duck's been after me for a while to sober up. Best to get rid of temptation."

Tony nodded after a frozen moment. There was something tight in his throat.

Gibbs didn't make him talk. He just drank a bit more on his coffee and got to work on the boat.

After a minute, Tony joined him. "Hey, Gibbs? I get the woodworking thing, but why a boat?" Victors were expected to have a talent, and woodworking had some practical purposes that Tony could see appealing to Gibbs. A boat, though . . . Where would he use it? How would he even get it out of the basement?

For some reason, Gibbs' eyes flicked to a particular corner of the basement before he answered. "After we finish this one, I'll tell you," he promised.

Tony looked at the rough ribs that were just started to form the boat. Finishing it would take a long time.

And Gibbs assumed he'd still be around to hear the answer.

The warm feeling spread in Tony's chest.

"Okay," he agreed. "Hey, did I tell you what Jimmy did in health class yesterday? So we were talking about safety procedures, and he just raises his hand and asks . . . "

The chatter blended with the sounds of wood being sanded. The listening device in the corner heard, but no one on the other end particularly cared.

And if Gibbs smiled, just a bit, while Tony talked, well, the bug wasn't equipped to realize it.


	4. Choice of Tribute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is reaped for the Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been more than a month. Why has it been more than a month?
> 
> Well, part of it's just been Real Life. The rest of it has been the annual project.
> 
> What annual project, you ask?
> 
> Answer: You'll find out on Monday.

The first year after Tony moved in, Gibbs had stayed well out of the rebellion. He wasn't going to put Tony at risk for a bunch of wishful thinking.

Then they lost Franks under what could only be described as suspicious circumstances, and Gibbs' resolve only strengthened. Frank's was only the latest in a long line of rebellious victors to be "taken care of," and what had they accomplished? Nothing. Gibbs was out until someone came to him with a plan that convinced him it could make a difference.

And then someone did.

District 13. A chance for their efforts to finally mean something. Rebels that needed to be smuggled out.

Gibbs did his part, and he kept doing it.

Right up until the year Tony was fourteen, and Gibbs woke up on Reaping Day to find a bouquet of white roses on his kitchen table. A lacy card of stationary was tied to the stems with one of Kelly's old pink ribbons, or one very like them. Delicate red cursive filled the card.

_I've been hearing so much about you recently. I trust we can catch up in the Capital._

The card crumpled in Gibbs' fist. Snow couldn't know. If he did, Gibbs would be dead.

Snow didn't know, but he suspected, and he would spend the Games trying to pressure something more definite out of him.

Gibbs threw the roses out. He could handle it.

Then Tony's name was drawn from the bowl.

 

Abby caught up with him at the door to the Justice Building. Her face was even paler than usual.

"This isn't the Tony you told me about, is it?"

Gibbs hadn't talked about Tony much, hoping to avoid this, but Abby had pried a bit of it out of him. He was pretty sure the look on his face was the only answer she needed. It had better be; even for Abby, it was the only answer she was getting.

She threw herself at him and wrapped him in a tight Abby-hug. "Oh, _Gibbs_."

His arms tightened automatically, but his mind was still stuck on the echoes.

_Anthony DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo._

Tony.

"He has to win." His voice came out strange. "He has to win, Abby."

She stepped back and nodded fiercely. "Of course, Gibbs."

She didn't realize what that meant yet. Gibbs was still struggling to accept all of it himself. Tony had to win, whatever the cost.

Even if it meant abandoning the other tribute.

 

Gibbs hurried to the visiting room. Ducky was just leaving.

"Bring him home, Jethro," he said fiercely.

Gibbs just nodded.

Tony was sitting hunched over on the the threadbare couch, but he sat up immediately when the door opened. "Gibbs!"

Gibbs knelt beside him and gripped his arms. "I'll get you home," he promised.

No matter what, he'd get Tony home.

 

Training. Interviews. Sponsor meetings. It was all one agonizing blur of not enough. Never enough.

Despite his threats, Snow never called him in for questioning.

Gibbs wasn't sure what he would have done if Snow had.

 

His memory of those weeks was fractured. Jagged. Only a few moments stood out fever bright.

A sword slicing into Tony's arm.

Tony, running deep into the arena.

Jeanne, huddled in her camp, calling desperately for water.

Looking at the price for water and the price for the medicine Tony needed.

Choosing to watch her die.

Abby's voice, far too bright, calling sponsors.

Tony, the final two, fighting past flames - 

Victory.

And the world settled.

 

He yelled at the doctors until they let him into the room. Tony was awake and fidgeting anxiously. His eyes snapped up. "Gibbs."

Gibbs sat beside him. "You did good, kid."

Something in Tony's eyes settled.

They had done it. It would be alright.

Or so he thought, right up until they got home, and the television crew was guiding Tony around his new house. Tony shot Gibbs a panicked look, and Gibbs tried to give him a reassuring one in return. Tony was welcome over as often as he liked. Nothing had to change.

Then DiNozzo Sr. stepped into view with his old conman' smile and his arms open wide. "Tony!"

Tony stiffened. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

Sr. chuckled. "They don't expect you to live here alone, you know. You need someone here at least till you're eighteen."

"And President Snow asked us to assure you that family is welcome to stay long beyond that," the tv host bubbled.

And there probably plenty of little bugs listening and careful threats waiting to make sure that was exactly what happened if they didn't behave.

Gibbs' met Sr.'s gaze with steely eyes and, not for the first time, considered homicide.


	5. Fifty-Fifty Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quarter Quell has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU, from beginning to now, has been like slogging through mud. Luckily, there's only one chapter left of this. Sorry for the wait.

Technically, Tony had a proper house of his own now. Technically, he was supposed to be living in it.

And he did. Technically.

Practically speaking, he spent as much time at Gibbs’ place and away from his father as he could get away with.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. He had won the Games. He could handle his father.

That’s what he kept telling himself, but he kept ending up at Gibbs’ house anyway. He made sure to always have an excuse ready, just to be safe. Other than that, he tried not to talk about it. Gibbs always got a really weird look on his face whenever Tony’s dad was brought up.

But hey, what better excuse than the Quarter Quell card reading, right? Victors had to stick together and all that stuff. Kate was there and everything. It was a proper little party. He’d brought snacks and everything.

Admittedly, his stomach was twisting too much to eat said snacks, but Kate was stress eating her way through them, so at least someone was getting something out of this.

Gibbs ignored their steady stream of nervous banter and kept his eyes locked on the screen as the opening ceremonies played. Of course, Gibbs was old enough to actually remember the last Quell. That couldn’t be helping his nerves.

It was going to be bad, whatever it was. Well, Quells were always bad. Worse-than-usual bad, because if Kate’s Games had made people uncomfortable, last year’s Games . . .

Well, last year’s Games hadn’t left anyone in a good mood, let alone Snow, and he’d been taking it out on everyone else. Especially the Victors.

Gibbs tensed and leaned forward. Tony and Kate cut off their argument.

And President Snow announced on national television that the Victors would be thrown back into the Games.

The bowl of popcorn Kate had been holding clattered to the ground.

Kate, Tony thought through a fog. She was the only female Victor for the district. Kate was definitely going back into the Games.

“It’ll be okay,” he tried to tell her. The words came out a bit croaked.

“I need a minute,” she said and promptly bolted for the bathroom.

Tony thought maybe he should follow her, but at the moment he wasn’t entirely sure he could move.

He managed to summon a weak smile for Gibbs. “At least we’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, huh, Gibbs?”

“You’re not going back in,” Gibbs said harshly.

It took Tony a second, but he realized what Gibbs was saying. What he was offering.

And it was tempting. Oh, it was tempting.

But - “I’ll be alright,” he said, fake grin now more firmly in place. “You need my pretty face in there to pull in the sponsors.”

“You’re not going back in,” Gibbs repeated in the same harsh tone. He pushed himself off the couch and stalked in the direction Kate had gone, pausing only long enough to grab Tony’s arm and drag him along with.

Tony hurried along easily enough. He didn’t particularly want to be alone tonight either. Far better to go help Kate then to sit arguing pointlessly in the living room.

Pointlessly, because even if Gibbs was willing to volunteer for Tony, then the reverse was true too.

Still fifty-fifty odds, just running on opposite causation.

 

Anthony DiNozzo was called.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs went in.


	6. Epilogue: Choosing a Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the rebellion, a few questions are finally answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set after the events of These are the Steps to Rebellion. I suggest you read that first.

“You know, Gibbs, the whole point of the revolution was to _change_ things.”

Gibbs looked up from putting the finishing touches on the boat. Tony was at the top of the stairs. His arm was still wrapped in bandages from the mutt trap in the Capital, but those would be off soon enough.

The boat, the basement, the work that was always so solitary until Tony or Kate came to join him - that hadn’t changed, no. Other things had.

“If things hadn’t changed, you wouldn’t be here now,” he pointed out as Tony descended the stairs. This late at night, the Capital would have expected him to be at his officially designated house with his father.

That wasn’t an issue now.

“Point,” he admitted easily. Tony glanced over the work. “You know, this is a lot quieter than I remember it being.”

“Finishing stages usually are,” Gibbs agreed mildly. Finishing stages of a boat, of a revolution . . . One done up with a bit of paint for a name, one finished with a few quiet votes and signatures.

He was about ready for some quiet.

Not too quiet, though.

Tony perched on a stool. “So. You promised to tell me why a boat when it was all done. And it’s done.”

“Almost done,” Gibbs corrected.

“Come on,” he whined.

Gibbs hid a smile and gave in. “The woodworking was so that I’d have a good excuse to make a lot of noise.”

“To confuse the bugs the Capital left?” Tony guessed. He barely waited for the confirming nod before continuing on. “Why bother, though?” He frowned. “You weren’t sneaking in rebels under my nose all those years, right? I wasn’t that oblivious.”

“Used to,” Gibbs confirmed, “but only before your time. After you came, there were other things I thought it was better if the Capital didn’t hear.”

Tony’s frown deepened as he presumably thought back to what Gibbs could be referring to. The only people that had met down here after Tony came were Tony, Gibbs, and eventually Kate. They’d never talked about anything particularly treasonous, even down here, but down here was where they’d had most of their more charged discussions. Usually late at night when Gibbs was so exhausted he might as well have been drunk.

There was nothing wrong with anything they’d said down here. Just . . . personal things. Things that would have let the Capital know just how much they cared.

They’d figured it out anyway, but he’d tried to protect them. He'd tried so hard.

He could see the exact moment Tony got it. A broad grin spread across the young man’s face. “Love you too, Gibbs,” he said flippantly with just a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

Gibbs let his mouth quirk up into a rueful half smile of confirmation before he tossed a paintbrush at him. “You gonna work or sit?”

Tony’s grin broadened and he slipped of the stool. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out after a few minutes of companionable work. “Why a boat? There weren’t exactly many opportunities to take one out here, even for a Victor.”

Gibbs shrugged. “Things change.”

Not just a way to hide rebellion. A symbol of it. A promise of what could come after.

The light of understanding lit up Tony’s face again. “I like it. Now. Last question, I promise.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. He very much doubted this would be the last question.

Tony powered on anyway. “Once this is done - “ He waved a hand at the paint drying in the outline of a dragon wrapped around the carefully stenciled letters that spelled out _Kelly_. “How in Panem are you going to get this thing out of here?”

“Explosives.”

Tony froze. “You’re joking, right? I like the house unexploded. Kate likes the house unexploded. Gibbs? Gibbs!”

This time, Gibbs figured there was no reason to hide his smile.


End file.
